


doctor doctor

by hobbitual



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Character, Tooth Brushing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 02:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6219628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitual/pseuds/hobbitual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i have a bit of a tooth brushing kink and wanted to indulge since ive been feeling pretty crappy myself and it turned into really sweet h/c with sick!brock. i hope you enjoy and thank you for reading! id love to know what you think :^)</p>
    </blockquote>





	doctor doctor

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Доктор доктор](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8149085) by [Saysly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saysly/pseuds/Saysly)



> i have a bit of a tooth brushing kink and wanted to indulge since ive been feeling pretty crappy myself and it turned into really sweet h/c with sick!brock. i hope you enjoy and thank you for reading! id love to know what you think :^)

Brock has a fever.

He's been laid up in bed for two days, either wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets, teeth chattering, or furiously kicking them off and cursing at Jack to turn the heat down.

Jack's got no idea _how_ Brock got sick, but he's playing nurse, anyway. When Brock is sweating and overheating, Jack puts a cold compress on his forehead and plies him with clear fluids. When Brock's body decides to flip the switch and leaves him shivering, unable to get warm enough no matter how many blankets Brock pulls over himself, Jack gets in bed with him to lend his own body heat. Brock complains about body aches and Jack rubs his sore muscles, being careful with the strength of his own body.

Whatever bug has gotten into Brock, it's left him pretty much immobile. His mouth, though, has been running just fine – he's given a running commentary to go with everything Jack does. Jack had, the third time Brock had demanded another pillow, entertained the idea of just smothering him with the damn thing so Brock would shut up for _one_ minute.

That is, until Brock gets nauseous enough to bolt out of bed and into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet to puke his guts out. The sight of him, legs splayed out on the undoubtedly freezing cold tile and arms shaking weakly while he tries to hold himself up above the toilet bowl while he throws up everything he had drank in a vain attempt to stay hydrated, is enough to make Jack feel just a little bad for his previous thoughts.

Jack kneels down next to Brock, placing a comforting hand on the back of his neck and rubbing circles on the sweat-slick skin with his thumb. Brock lifts his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Just as Jack notices tears pricking the corners of Brock's eyes, Brock slams the lid of the toilet shut and crosses his arms on top of it, burying his head in the circle of his arms.

“I fucking hate throwing up,” Brock says, muffled and weak. His throat sounds hoarse, voice scratchy.

“No fun, I know,” Jack says. He's taken to running his hand from Brock's neck up to the base of his skull, trailing his fingers along the shaved back of Brock's hair; any kind of soft touch to Brock's neck is proven to make him relax and Jack figures he could use the comfort right now. “Feelin' better at all, honey?”

Brock moves his head up and out of the cradle of his own arms enough for Jack to see the top half of his face, take in the shininess of Brock's eyes. Lifting his head entirely, Brock pokes his tongue out, wetting his dry lips. He looks cute – _kittenish_ , Jack thinks. And then –  
  
“My mouth tastes like shit,” Brock says, and as his voice breaks on the last syllable, bursts into tears.

Jack takes a few seconds to commit it to memory: Brock on his knees, hair limp across his forehead without any product keeping it in its customary quiff. His shoulders are shaking with the effort of keeping his crying under control, but there's no way he can stop the tears from flowing out of his tired hazel eyes, dark circles prominent on the skin under them. When he takes to rubbing at his tears with a closed fist, Jack can't help but think – Brock is older than Jack by about a decade, but here, like this, Brock just looks like a sick little boy.

With this image of Brock firmly planted in his memory, Jack takes pity on Brock and bundles him into his arms. He can feel Brock shivering, chilled and weak, and wraps one arm around Brock's waist and cradles the side of Brock's face with the other. He rubs behind Brock's ear, on the sensitive spot he knows is an erogenous zone. He's aiming to soothe, but all it does is make Brock cry harder, burying his face into Jack's chest and climbing as far into Jack's lap as he can.

They stay like that for a while, until Brock's crying has turned into sniffling. Jack's knees are starting to ache from the bathroom tile but he's dealt with worse. When Brock starts to stir in his arms, Jack loosens his hold on him. Rubbing at his mouth again, Brock grimaces and lets out a few curses. Jack takes hold of his wrist before he rubs his face raw and gives Brock a questioning look.

“I want to brush my teeth,” Brock says.

“Alright,” Jack replies, “we're in the best place for it.”

Brock rolls his eyes at that, which leads them both to believe he's feeling a bit better. But when he tries to stand up on his own, his feet skid on the tile and his legs go sprawling ( _like Bambi_ , Jack thinks, amused) and he falls right back into Jack's lap.

Brock's face crumbles at this, brows furrowing and lip trembling and Jack knows he's about to cry again. Jack also knows how much Brock hates crying, so thinking quickly, he shushes Brock with a thumb against Brock's lips. With his other arm, he reaches up to the side of the sink and grabs the toothpaste and Brock's toothbrush.

When Brock sees what Jack's done, his expression morphs into a mixture of almost-crying and about-to-bitch.

“Jesus, Rollins, _no_ ,” Brock whines. “I can do it my fucking –“

“That's Doctor Rollins, considerin' I've been waitin' on you hand and foot,” Jack interrupts. “And no, you can't do it yourself. I can see your arms shakin' like twigs. So quit.”

Brock pouts at the comparison but doesn't put up any more of a fight. Jack gently lifts Brock out of his lap and positions him against the tile of the bathroom wall. Jack sits cross-legged in front of Brock, having enough of kneeling, with Brock's legs straight across the floor and bracketing Jack's own.

Jack hums lightly as he squeezes a bit of toothpaste onto the bristles of Brock's toothbrush. When he caps the tube and looks up, Brock won't meet his eyes; he's pink in the face and Jack is almost certain it's a blush.

“It's not that big of a fuckin' deal, Brock,” Jack says, irritation in his tone. “You're sick. I'm your –“ Brock gives Jack a sharp glare that stops him mid-sentence. “I'm here to help you. Chill the fuck out.”

“Whatever,” Brock says, with less bite to his tone than if he were well. “My mouth tastes like roadkill so if you'd just –?”

Jack scoffs, waving the toothbrush at Brock. “Go ahead and open up then.”

Tilting his head back to rest against the wall, Brock opens his mouth wide and resolutely stares up at the corner of the bathroom ceiling. He looks pissed off, embarrassed, but humbled. Jack enjoys the sight of him like this.

Jack holds Brock's chin with one hand, bringing the other holding the toothbrush up to Brock's open mouth. When the bristles of the toothbrush connect with Brock's left bottom molars, Brock makes a noise of discomfort. He tries to move his head but Jack's grip on his chin stops him from doing so; Jack knew he was going to put up a fight this way since he isn't able to talk.

“If you don't keep your head still you're gonna end up chokin' on the damn thing,” Jack mutters. “Relax.”

Brock growls irritably as best as he can with his mouth open, but relents and lets Jack brush his teeth in firm circles. When Jack moves to the right side of Brock's bottom row, Brock seems to be relaxing into it. Jack is gentle but thorough, making sure each one of Brock's teeth gets the same amount of attention. Jack moves to Brock's top row, looking into Brock's face as he does so. Brock looks less pissed off now, still not looking at Jack but – it looks like he's getting some enjoyment out of the treatment.

Finishing with all of Brock's back teeth, Jack stops to tell Brock to clench his teeth together so he can get the front of his teeth and gums. Brock gives the ceiling an incredulous look, but does as he's told. Jack laughs inwardly at Brock's barely-forced grimace. He gives the front of Brock's teeth the same treatment as the back, quickly finishing up and throwing the toothbrush into the basin of the sink.

“And we're done,” Jack says. Brock finally looks at Jack at that, shooting daggers at him with an obvious 'help me up' expression. Jack snorts, standing up and helping Brock up with him. He turns the water on in the sink for Brock, letting him spit and rinse out his mouth with the cold water. Just this simple action, plus having to handle his own weight from standing, has Brock looking exhausted and shaky. Grabbing a soft facecloth, Jack wipes water and excess toothpaste from Brock's mouth and chin. Brock is tired enough not to show any resentment for that and Jack can tell he's ready to get back into bed.

Before Brock can move to start heading back to the bedroom himself, Jack easily scoops him up into his arms and walks them both to the bed. Brock lets out a tired groan, having had enough of having so much done for him.

Jack settles Brock down onto the bed, getting all of his pillows situated the way Brock wants. After Brock curls up into a ball, Jack pulls the blankets up over him and lets him burrow into the bed until there's just a Brock-shaped lump under the bedclothes.

Jack waits patiently. He's rewarded with the emergence of black hair, then tan forehead, and finally hazel eyes peeking out of the blankets.

“Thanks,” Brock mumbles quietly.

“'Course,” Jack says. “Get some rest, sweetheart. I'm right here if you need me.”

Brock blinks sleepily and nods. His eyelids slowly flutter shut and in a heartbeat, he's asleep.

Jack gets into bed next to Brock, taking the one unused pillow for himself. He thinks maybe it's not so bad playing nurse.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @ usopp :^)


End file.
